


Corresponding Distance

by ember_firedrake



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Letters, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-05-06 13:35:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5419040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ember_firedrake/pseuds/ember_firedrake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawkeye is transferred to another MASH unit, and has to cope with suddenly being uprooted from all the people he knows. Meanwhile, back at the 4077th, BJ has to adjust to life without his best friend, and perhaps confront deeper feelings he hadn't realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Corresponding Distance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PlacesBetween](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlacesBetween/gifts).



> Takes place around mid-season 6. Episode-specific spoilers for S6E07 "In Love and War".
> 
> This fic would be nothing without [PlacesBetween](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PlacesBetween), who comes up with CRUEL IDEAS but then helps me find ways to fix them. ♥

BJ sat on his cot, pen and paper in hand. The paper was blank save for the absent-minded dots left there by the tip of the pen as he considered what to write. Across from him, Hawkeye’s cot was empty, as it had been for the last three days. The sheets were uncharacteristically neat in Hawkeye’s absence. No, not absence, BJ reminded himself. That implied the lack of Hawkeye’s presence was only temporary, when BJ knew that wasn’t the case as far as the Army was concerned.

BJ frowned. He didn’t want to think about that, however true it might be. Setting the pen to paper again, he wrote:

_Hawkeye,_

_It’s been three days since you were transferred to the 8055th. I would have written sooner, but about an hour after you left we got busloads of wounded. We were a man short, and for all of Charles’ skill he still isn’t anywhere near our speed. This is the earliest I’ve been able to sit down and write to you. I don’t want it to seem like I’m complaining, though. You got the worse end of the deal, out of all of us._

_Col. Potter is still doing everything he can to reverse the Army’s decision. You know how they love their red tape. We’ll figure something out, though._

_Everybody misses you. The O.R. just isn’t the same without your showtunes or witticisms. Even Margaret remarked today that it was too quiet, and she’s usually the first to tell us to keep it down._

_Only Charles’ mood seems improved by the situation, talking about how he can “finally have some peace and quiet” without you there. He doesn’t know I borrowed one of the nurses’ alarm clocks and I’ve hidden it in his footlocker._

BJ paused. There was more he wanted to write. He wanted to express his frustration at the circumstances that had taken Hawkeye from the 4077th. He wanted to talk about how the mood around camp was already more somber since Hawkeye had left. But he couldn’t imagine saying any of those things would help how Hawkeye must feel about the situation. It was probably better to keep the message light. 

_I miss you._

_Your friend,  
BJ_

BJ folded the sheet of paper. As he addressed the envelope ( _Captain B.F. Pierce, Unit 8055 MASH, APO…_ ) he couldn’t help but feel a grim sort of acknowledgment for the reality of the situation. Whether it would remain so was still to be seen, but for now, that unfamiliar address seemed to mock him.

Originally, it was only supposed to be a temporary assignment. The 8055th had lost one of its surgeons on a trip to the front, and Hawkeye had been picked to fill in until a permanent replacement could be found. The Army, it its infinite wisdom, had taken a look at the 4077th’s survival statistics, and had decided Hawkeye should be that permanent replacement. The word had come down the night before Hawkeye was slated to leave.

“Well then, I’m not going,” Hawkeye had declared when Colonel Potter broke the news.

Potter frowned. “Son, you want the MPs dragging your ass out of here come morning?”

“They can try. I’m not leaving. Why can’t you send Charles?”

“Because the 8055th just lost their chief surgeon, and you know Charles can’t handle your pace.”

“What about me?” BJ had interjected, even though part of him already knew it was futile. They wouldn’t take Charles, they _couldn’t_ take Potter—which meant that whatever happened, he and Hawkeye would be separated. Part of him just wanted to spare Hawkeye from being the one who had to leave, but Potter shook his head.

“It won’t matter. The brass have got it in their heads that Pierce is the man for the job, and there isn’t time before tomorrow to change their minds,” Potter said. Then, turning to Hawkeye again, “They probably figure you can whip the other surgeons into shape.” 

“They haven’t seen me try to lead calisthenics,” Hawkeye said grimly.

Once they had left Potter’s office, Hawkeye was curiously quiet. BJ had seen him rail against so many upper level decisions that to see him quiet at this moment was unsettling. For BJ, the weight of it was finally hitting him. Tomorrow. Hawkeye would be gone _tomorrow_.

“Look, you heard Potter,” BJ said. “Just because there isn’t time to change their minds before your transfer goes through, doesn’t mean this can’t be reversed later. So we’ll miss each other a couple weeks. You’ll be back before you know it.” 

Hawkeye’s mouth quirked upwards, but the smile didn’t come anywhere close to reaching his eyes. “Don’t drink all the good gin while I’m gone,” he said. “You know—the stuff that’s aged more than a week.”

“Of course,” BJ said. “And I’ll write you as often as I’m able.”

“You don’t have to do that.” There was a curious expression on Hawkeye’s face, one BJ couldn’t define.

“I insist,” BJ said, hoping the gesture might, however briefly, lift Hawkeye’s spirits.

Now, the swamp was quiet as BJ leaned back on his cot. If anything, the space seemed smaller, as if Hawkeye’s presence alone made it grander than it actually was. He wondered how Hawkeye was doing at the 8055th. He hoped, at the very least, the people there were giving him a polite welcome. They were always surrounded by death and destruction, but it must be especially hard to lose one of your own in such a manner. Difficult, too, to be the person who had to replace someone. BJ knew that feeling well enough, though Hawkeye had welcomed him warmly, helping him through his first day in Korea even as the shock of war had threatened to overwhelm him. 

And now Hawkeye was the one displaced. Strange to think that the 4077th had become familiar enough that they almost considered it a home. Given some of the other alternatives in this war, it was. BJ realized with belated clarity what Hawkeye’s curious expression three days ago had been. Regret. 

BJ sighed, wishing their positions were reversed so he might spare Hawkeye some of that pain. He set the envelope aside where he wouldn’t lose it. Mail went out in a few hours, and he still needed to write a letter to Peg.

* * *

“Tell me you can save the leg, Doc.”

Hawkeye looked up at the kid’s face. He couldn’t be more than twenty years old. His brown eyes were glassy—his face pinched and pale from the pain.

“Tell me something, you play any high school sports?”

The kid let out a ragged breath. “No,” he said. “It was more of the academic side for me.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Hawkeye said. “I patched up a wound like this just last week. You should be walking fine, though I wouldn’t recommend an athletic career.”

Some of the tension in the kid’s face eased as he let out a sigh of relief.

“Nurse?” Hawkeye turned, expecting to see Margaret or Kellye or Baker and finding an unfamiliar face. He recovered himself. “Could you prep him and have him brought to my table?”

The surgery went smoothly, Hawkeye focusing all his attention on the patient, and then the next one and the one after that. It was only when he deposited his surgical gown in the laundry several hours later that he felt irritation creeping back in. The kid would recover, and the other patients stood a good chance as well. No, Hawkeye’s frustration was more internally motivated. 

“Hey Doc, do I know you?” a voice asked. 

Hawkeye looked up. It was one of the patients in post-op. He was seated on his cot, propped up by several pillows. He did look familiar, Hawkeye thought as he approached. 

“I thought so,” the guy said. “Pierce, right? You patched up my spleen six months ago.” 

Hawkeye managed a smile for the patient’s sake. “I thought I gave you a twenty-year warranty on that thing—what are you doing here?”

“It wasn’t my spleen this time, it was my leg. Besides, I could ask you the same. Weren’t you at a different unit?”

“I was, but the Army thought I needed to see more of the country.” Hawkeye let out a hollow laugh. “I suppose I ought to thank them—I thought I’d run out of reasons to hate the war.” 

The man’s face twisted in sympathy. “That’s rough, sir.” 

“I’ll manage,” Hawkeye said, unsure how much he should trust himself on that account. He looked at the man’s chart. “Good news for you, though. You’ve earned a ticket home.” 

Later, Hawkeye sat in the mess hall, pushing food around that was even more unpalatable than what he was accustomed to. Try as he might, he couldn’t shake his bitterness at the situation. Why not Charles? Oh, sure, he understood Potter’s reasoning, but the Army didn’t care about that kind of logic. On paper, Charles looked outstanding, with his Harvard degree and fancy hospitals. Why not pick him? Or hell, why not BJ, if they wanted someone with more field experience? Not that Hawkeye wanted to be separated from BJ in any case. He just didn’t understand the reasoning behind any of it. 

Much as Hawkeye wanted a way to transfer back, he could see no course that wouldn’t lead to serious repercussions. Stealing a jeep wasn’t an option—this unit was on the other side of Korea, and he would encounter too many MPs and checkpoints, to say nothing of the possibility of running into hostile troops. He’d stared longingly at the chopper earlier that day, but the only option there was bribing the pilot. A tempting course of action, but not one guaranteed to keep him free of the cells at Leavenworth. 

The only other course was one he would never consider. He could never compromise the care of his patients in the hopes that the Army would recognize he’d been better at the 4077th, no matter how much he disliked it here.

Hawkeye didn’t notice the company clerk announcing mail call until the letter was set in front of him. He recognized BJ’s handwriting immediately, and tore open the envelope.

It took Hawkeye a moment for the words to even register, scanning his eyes over the writing that he’d always seen secondhand, reading over BJ’s shoulder as he addressed letters home. He needed to go back to the beginning twice before he could finally take in what had been written. Reading BJ’s words, even if they didn’t offer a respite from his situation, softened some of the acridity Hawkeye felt. He was less optimistic than BJ about Potter’s chances for securing a transfer, but he tried not to let that cloud his happiness at knowing BJ was thinking about him.

A lump rose in this throat. They’d barely had the chance for goodbyes, since this was initially only supposed to be a temporary assignment. What if they didn’t see each other again? What if a sniper or a shell got lucky, what if they remained separated until the war ended or they were discharged and they went back to their opposite ends of the United States and they never saw each other again? How long would BJ continue to write, once time and distance had lessened the pain of this separation?

* * *

_BJ,_

_Thanks for your letter. I suspect the Army hasn’t passed my forwarding address along to Crabapple Cove, so if you see any letters from my dad could you send them my way when you get the chance?_

_~~I can’t--~~  
Things are okay here. Nobody here calls me Hawkeye. I keep reminding them, but it doesn’t stick. It’s always “Dr. Pierce” or on one occasion “Benjamin”. You’d think Hawkeye would be easier to say, being fewer syllables and all. _

_Tell everyone I say hi. Torment Charles a bit on my account._

_~~I wish--~~  
I miss you._

_Your friend,  
Hawkeye_

* * *

“Maudlin again today, I see,” Charles said, setting his tray on the table across from BJ.

“I am not,” BJ said, though there was little conviction behind it as he absently pushed colorless food around on his tray.

“This lugubrious attitude does you no credit,” Charles said, his accent dragging the syllables out.

“Gee, I wonder what the reason for that might be,” BJ said, more cutting than he’d intended. “I’m sorry my attitudes are a _bore_ to you, Charles.”

“Well there’s no need to get snippy.”

“I’m not _snippy_ , I’m—” BJ paused. He’d been about to say _I’m worried_ , but he and Charles were hardly close enough to warrant that admission. “I’m fine.”

BJ left the mess tent, needing the fresh air to clear his head. He’d received Hawkeye’s letter just that morning, and he couldn’t shake the feeling of all the things Hawkeye wasn’t saying. Nobody at the other unit had called him “Hawkeye,” which meant they probably weren’t going to any lengths to make him feel welcome, not that Hawkeye would admit as much in writing. And then there were the sentences he’d begun but crossed out—more honesty in those interrupted words than in his whole message. But hadn’t BJ done the same? Fill his letter with lighthearted quips to hide how frustrated he was at this whole situation? Didn’t he do the same thing in Peg’s letters? He couldn’t tell her about the extent of the things he saw, of the bodies torn apart by shrapnel, the utter hopelessness of it sometimes. 

To a degree, they all glossed over certain details in letters, to spare the person they cared about from worry or pain. Perhaps those details weren’t what any of them wanted to hear, but maybe in Hawkeye’s case he needed that. Certainly Hawkeye would understand the medical aspects better than anyone.

And maybe...some honesty might help make Hawkeye not feel so isolated. Perhaps it would help BJ with this hollow ache that had taken up residence in his chest cavity.

Post-op passed quickly; most of the patients were stable or improving. Margaret shot him a few concerned glances, but conversation was minimal outside of talking to the patients. BJ preferred that, at the moment. When that was finished, he visited Colonel Potter’s office.

“Come in,” came the response after he knocked.

“Colonel, I was wondering if you’d had any luck regarding Hawkeye’s transfer,” BJ said as he entered the room.

“Sit down, Hunnicutt.” Potter’s tone had a grimness to it that already didn’t bode well. “The truth is, this is rotten timing all around. Before the 8055th lost their chief surgeon, a few other doctors in Korea had reached the points they needed to go home. We’re all stretched thin, and the Army needs all units operating at a certain level of effectiveness while they fill in the vacant spots, let alone consider any transfers. They’ve freezed me out at the moment. Captain Pierce is going to have to sit tight for a while longer.” 

A protest was on the tip of BJ’s tongue, but it held it in check. The reasons made sense, even if it wasn’t fair on any of the MASH units, and Hawkeye most of all. It had already been a week...how long would it take the Army to sort something like this out?”

Instead, BJ nodded, giving a sigh of resignation. “I understand, sir.”

Potter regarded him with consideration. “How are you handling yourself, Hunnicutt?”

“Me?” BJ asked, taken aback. “I’m—I’m fine.”

Of course BJ missed him, but he could hardly focus on his own selfish needs. At least BJ had Potter, Radar, Mulcahy, Margaret and Klinger. Hawkeye was going through this alone.

“I’m just worried about him, is all.”

Potter gave a nod. “Try not to be. He’s as safe as he would be, here.”

As BJ left the office, he didn’t have the heart to voice that his concern wasn’t for the outward threats of the war—mines, shelling, or enemy snipers—but something more internal. Hawkeye’s extraordinary capacity for compassion made him a terrific doctor, and had endeared him to BJ in the early days of their friendship, but now BJ couldn’t help but worry if it left him emotionally vulnerable.

* * *

BJ’s second letter came as a surprise to Hawkeye. Not that he’d doubted BJ’s assurance to keep writing, he just wasn’t expecting it so soon. He’d thought surely other things would have come up to delay further correspondence. Like the constant influx of wounded currently keeping him from reading the response.

At the sound of choppers Hawkeye had hurriedly shoved the envelope into his pocket. He hadn’t even had the chance to open it, though he couldn’t help but notice the letter was heavier than last time. Was there important news? What else could have happened in that short a time? Hawkeye pushed the letter from his mind as he went to prepare for triage.

Hawkeye had mostly kept clear of Dr. Phillips outside of O.R. Phillips had been appointed chief surgeon since the loss of Dr. Mitchell, and he had been standoffish all the time Hawkeye had known him. Whether it was lingering grief over losing Mitchell, resentment that he was now replaced, or whether Dr. Phillips felt threatened by Hawkeye’s skill set, Hawkeye wasn’t sure. Perhaps he’d always been standoffish, and this wasn’t a recent shift in moods. Either way, Hawkeye kept clear of him, though that became difficult at times when the other surgeon questioned his judgment.

“That one you had sent to your table is too far gone,” Dr. Phillips said over Hawkeye’s shoulder as they scrubbed for surgery.

“Not if he gets an arterial transplant. I’ve done the procedure dozens of times,” Hawkeye said.

He couldn’t see all of Dr. Phillips’ face behind the surgical mask, but from the way his eyes went tight at the corners he was probably holding back another objection. Hawkeye went to his patient.

“Nurse, could you fetch the arterial grafts?”

The procedure went smoothly, Hawkeye’s irritation dimming as focus on the patient took over.

“Closing now,” Hawkeye said as he finished.

“Now that you’re done showing off, there are other patients who still need seeing to,” Dr Phillips said, his tone clipped.

Hawkeye pretended to ignore the remark, glancing at his unconscious patient as he tugged off his surgical gloves. “You’re fortunate you didn’t need a change of heart, I’m afraid we’ve none to spare.”

It was the sort of pun that BJ would have appreciated. Dr Phillips, it seemed, did not have the same sense of humor.

“This is hardly the time for callous jokes, Dr. Pierce.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise this place suffered from an irony deficiency.”

There was a brief pause in the O.R., followed by a brusque “Dr. Pierce, come speak with me when we’re finished here.”

Hawkeye turned to attend to his next patient, but not before noticing amusement in several of the nurses’ eyes. Shared humor at his jokes, or delight in seeing him get dressed down by their chief surgeon? Wryly, Hawkeye recalled Potter saying the Army thought he could whip the other surgeons into shape. A little hard to do that when they resented his presence.

“Don’t undermine me in front of the staff,” Dr. Phillips said as they stripped off their aprons several hours later.

“I could say the same to you.” Hawkeye knew he was treading dangerous territory—this man was a major, and not afraid of wielding that authority—but his temper was frayed. “It’s not showing off when a kid’s life is at stake.”

“Just keep your joking out of the O.R.”

“Hey, I don’t know about you, but after four hours under those lights, sometimes a little humor is necessary to keep us on our feet.”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“Look around you! Nothing about this place is _appropriate_. So give me a break for coping in what small ways that I can.”

Hawkeye stormed out, not wanting to hear any more and not trusting himself to keep his temper. The evening light was fading fast, and the cold air came as a shock to his system after so many hours under the hot O.R. lights. Hawkeye paused, considering going to his tent for a coat, before making his way to the officers’ club. His _tent_ , what a joke. It was just a bunk he had in a tent with three other people he barely knew. Nothing but awkward, stilted conversation whenever he was there. Better to go back after everyone had fallen asleep.

“Gin, please,” he said when he reached the bar.

The gin tasted only marginally better than what came out of the still in the swamp, but it burned the same going down. Hawkeye was on his third, thinking and rethinking the merits of stealing a jeep, when he remembered the letter in his pocket. 

Sweat had caused the ink on the envelope to blot, but the contents were fine, if a little creased. The packet was bigger than he initially thought, which Hawkeye realized was the result of a letter from his father included with BJ’s folded message. Hawkeye stared at the paper in his hand. It wasn’t that he had ever doubted BJ would forward along his mail, but he hadn’t expected it so soon. He set his dad’s letter aside to read later, picking up BJ’s.

The first thing Hawkeye noticed was how much more open BJ was in this letter. While the first letter had been a nice distraction, it had been made up mostly of pleasantries. Which had been appreciated, certainly, but this one by contrast was almost raw in its honesty. BJ wrote about the operations he’d conducted, which Hawkeye read avidly, longing for the atmosphere of the 4077th’s O.R. BJ also wrote candidly about his frustrations, something Hawkeye could relate to intimately.

_I had hoped I would have better news for you at this point. Potter says there’s a freeze on transfers right now. All the MASH units are short on doctors, yadda yadda, you know the Army byline. Point is, I’m not giving up on this. I’m going to keep fighting it until you’re back with us or until the war ends._

A lump had risen in Hawkeye’s throat as he read, and he blinked, moisture stinging the corners of his eyes. He missed BJ so much, the ache in his chest an acute longing. Part of him though, the cynical part, wondered if BJ’s conviction in this instance was misplaced. What if this couldn’t be reversed?

What if BJ never knew how much he meant to Hawkeye?

Hawkeye finished his gin and was about to wave the bartender over for another when the officers’ club doors opened and Dr. Phillips walked in. Hawkeye tensed, not ready for a confrontation when he was three drinks in.

“Relax, Pierce, I’m not here to have it out with you. I just want to talk.”

“You buying, then?”

Dr. Phillips set a creased bill on the bar, ordering a double scotch for himself. Hawkeye got a gin and tonic, taking smaller sips in case he needed to be on his guard. 

“I may...have been unfair towards you earlier,” Dr. Phillips ventured after a moment.

A quip of _well, I wasn’t going to mention it_ was on the tip of Hawkeye’s tongue, but he bit it back. He could recognize an olive branch when he saw one, being the pacifist that he was. 

“The thing is, when Dr. Mitchell got hit—he was our best doctor. If it had been anyone else, that person would still be alive, because Mitchell would’ve been the one working on them. By the time we got to Mitch—”

Dr. Phillips trailed off, but his meaning was evident. He polished off the rest of his scotch before staring distantly at the empty glass.

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Hawkeye said, voice somber.

“The thing is, though...I think you would have been able to save him. So...I’m sorry I let that affect our working relationship. I can’t imagine this is easy for you.”

“It’s nothing compared to what you all have gone through,” Hawkeye said. As much as he wished he could be back with BJ at the 4077th, he meant every word.

* * *

_Dear BJ,_

_Something happened that helped put things in ~~perp--~~ perspective for me. See, I’ve been so busy feeling bad about being here. ~~It was selfish~~ I didn’t ~~think~~ realize how selfish it was. Imagine what it must be like for them. Dr. Philllips lost his  best friend. And as much as it hurts me not being able to see you, you’re still here. Not here, here, but you know what I mean. You’re the best friend I’ve ever had, and I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you ~~.~~ the way these guys lost Dr. Mitchell. _

_That’s a morbid thought, i’m sorry. It’s not as fun drinkging here as it is with you. Even if the gin is better. Can’t beat the company at the 4077th. Anyway, Dr. Phillllips is being nicer to me now. He still only calls me ‘Pierce’ ~~but at least no one calls me Ben anymore.~~_

_~~It’s okay~~ I wanted to tell you it’s okay if you can’t make it work with my transfer. I know Potter can’t use all his favors on me, and I don’t want anyone getting in trouble for me. It’s hard enough not gettign in trouble myself. Every time I pass a jeep I want to steal it and go back._

_You once asked me if it would help if out of the whole war there were two weeks I wouldn’t wanna forget. Truth is, two weeks aren’t enough time to make any part of this war worth it. Months, though, that I’m not so sure about._

_~~I only--~~  
I only wish I had been able to share a proper goodbye with you. I miss you so much. If I don’t see you again, know that you’re the best friend a guy could ask for. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me._

_Love,  
Hawkeye_

* * *

BJ had read and reread the letter Hawkeye had sent. It was clear, from the messiness of the handwriting and the number of crossed out portions, that he’d been drunk at the time he had written it. Less clear was why he had still decided to send it, unless he’d posted it while hungover.

No, the more alarming thing than Hawkeye’s declarations (Wanting to steal a jeep? Talking as if they wouldn’t see each other again?) was that Hawkeye hadn’t written since. It had been _weeks_. BJ was nearly frantic with worry. He had continued to write to Hawkeye, a fresh letter every couple days, but those letters received no reply. He had even written Peg about his concerns, though he knew there was little she could do. Just writing about it to someone else seemed to help, because he couldn’t bring it up with anyone at camp. They just directed concern at _him_. Couldn’t they see that _Hawkeye_ was the one who needed it?

If he could just see or talk to Hawkeye, BJ felt sure things would be okay. On several instances now he had bribed Radar to radio the 8055th, but every time he made it through the surgeons were in surgery, or Hawkeye was asleep after a 32-hour shift. Or they were bugging out. Then Potter had gotten wise to the personal calls and ordered Radar to limit them.

Underneath it all was the nagging fear that Hawkeye didn’t want to hear from him. But then...why would he have written those things in his last letter? Either circumstances at the 8055th really were as bad as BJ imagined, and Hawkeye was unable to reply to letters or radio calls—or Hawkeye was ignoring him. Or a series of supply truck snafus meant that BJ’s letters had never reached their destination. Not entirely out of the realm of possibility, but surely at least _one_ of BJ’s letters would have made it.

Which meant, if Hawkeye was ignoring him, it could be either some misplaced sense of martyrdom, or he was embarrassed that he’d written BJ while drunk. Or maybe some other reason entirely. All BJ knew was, each day he didn’t hear from Hawkeye he felt this twisting ache in the pit of his stomach, anxiety and something else he couldn’t give name to. 

Stealing a jeep was starting to look like a more appealing plan by the day.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” Charles said as he set his tray down across from BJ. “But I’m actually beginning to miss Pierce.”

He and Charles had reached an uneasy truce in the past weeks, once BJ had come to realize his pranks held little appeal when there wasn’t someone in the camp who shared his sense of humor. Sure, he could get a few laughs here and there, but it wasn’t the same without Hawkeye.

“I can’t believe you either,” BJ said, as he spread jam on a slice of toast. “Do I dare suggest you’ve grown fond of him in his absence?”

“Oh, nothing of the kind,” Charles scoffed. “But don’t you see? With Pierce gone, and the Army’s _interminable_ delays, we remain understaffed. At this rate, it will be _months_ before I’m allowed out of this hellhole and back to Tokyo and civilization.”

BJ’s knife fell to the tray with a clatter. He stared at Charles, appalled. “How can you be so selfish? I can’t believe— You’re making Hawkeye’s transfer all about how it inconveniences _you_.” He was distantly aware that his voice had risen.

“It’s hardly worse than how you’re acting about the situation. Honestly, the lovelorn moping? The unkempt appearance?”

“At least I give a damn about what he’s going through!” BJ yelled, rising to his feet. He wasn’t sure what was going through his head, but he felt sure it could be resolved if he could only shake some sense into Charles.

“Hunnicutt!” Potter’s bellow pierced through the fog in BJ’s mind.

BJ blinked. He had Charles’ collar in one hand—his other hand was clenched in a fist. Charles’ eye’s were wide, and everyone in the mess tent had fallen silent. BJ released him, stepping back with a shaky breath. 

“My office. Now,” Potter said, his tone allowing no room for protest.

BJ paced to Potter’s office, rattled but with an agitation he couldn’t shake. Part of it was towards Charles, of course, for what he’d said. It was selfish and completely uncalled for. Even if Charles’ retort about BJ’s current state rang a little true. He rubbed a hand down his stubbled cheek. How long had it been since he’d given himself a proper shave?

But BJ also couldn’t help but feel a lingering bitterness towards Potter. How could he have just abandoned Hawkeye, after all Hawkeye had done for this unit? Logically, BJ knew there was Army politics to contend with, but it didn’t change the feeling that Potter had let Hawkeye down. 

As much as BJ was expecting it, he still wasn’t prepared for the intensity of Potter’s lecture once he reached the office.

“What in the name of Teddy Roosevelt’s horse has gotten into you, Hunnicutt? You’re lucky that didn’t come to blows, or Winchester would have been fully within his rights to court-martial you. Frankly, I woulda let him!” 

“I’m sorry sir, it’s just—”

“Did I invite you to speak yet? Sit down.”

BJ sank onto the empty chair. 

“Now,” Potter said, voice growing somewhat calmer, though an edge of agitation still remained. “You mind telling me what’s going on with you? Calmly, mind you.”

“Sir, it’s Hawkeye. I’ve been worried about him, and then Charles said—”

“I’ll speak with Major Winchester in due course. And you aren’t answering my question. I want to know what’s going on with _you_. You’ve been so focused on Captain Pierce you haven’t addressed your own pain. It’s no easy thing, being separated from someone you care about.”

That brought BJ up short. He couldn’t deny the truth of what Potter was saying. If anything, BJ had been so intent on not being selfish that he’d pushed aside all the pain he’d been feeling. He’d been so convinced that the situation was worse for Hawkeye, he hadn’t wanted to admit that it was affecting him, too. 

BJ sagged forward on his elbows, a tremor passing through him. He felt deflated, all his energy sapped away. The ache in his chest seemed like it might overwhelm him, and part of BJ wanted to succumb to it.

“I’m sorry, sir,” BJ said, and this time he meant it. “I guess I have been handling this a bit...poorly.”

“You can say that again,” Potter said, all the heat from his voice gone. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”

BJ let out a shaky breath. “I miss him,” he said, realizing dimly that it was the first time he’d admitted it aloud. He didn’t want to tell Potter about the contents of Hawkeye’s last letter—it felt too personal—but that didn’t mean he couldn’t tell Potter the truth.

“I haven’t heard anything from Hawkeye in weeks, sir. I’ve written him, I tried calling. That’s why I’m so worried, and that’s why...why it’s affected my mood so badly,” BJ said, not meeting Potter’s eyes. He stared at his hand, fingers curled in a loose fist. Just a few minutes ago, he’d been prepared to plant that fist in Charles face. 

“Son, I know you’re not gonna want to hear this, but have you considered waiting for Pierce to contact you?”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of him needing space, sir,” BJ said. “Do you—do you remember when he was having those nightmares, and sleepwalking?”

Potter frowned, then gave a grim nod. “I remember that.”

“It took your intervention before he admitted something was wrong. The people at the 8055th...I’m sure they’re good people, but they don’t know him like we do, and they have their own things they’re worrying about. They don’t know that sometimes Hawkeye gives so much of himself, until he doesn’t have enough left to sustain him.”

Potter sighed, turning from his desk to pull down a bottle of whiskey from his cabinet. He grabbed two glasses, but BJ waved him off. He didn’t need alcohol right now.

“I understand your concern,” Potter said. “And I won’t say it’s unwarranted. Right now though, I need you to look after yourself. In fact, I’m ordering it. Unless any wounded come in, I want you to take the rest of the day to yourself. Take a nap. Get some knitting done. Whatever it takes to relax for a few hours.”

BJ wanted to ask if this meant Potter was going to do something about Hawkeye’s situation, but he thought he’d already pressed his luck today far enough. Besides, his mind was a tumult of thoughts, and the prospect of some privacy and quiet was not unwelcome.

Charles wasn’t at the swamp when BJ arrived, for which he was grateful. At some point he ought to offer some sort of apology for losing his temper, but he was in no state to do that now.

The solid canvas sides of the tent were drawn down, which offered little respite from the elements, but did allow for more privacy than the mesh siding. BJ took advantage of that privacy now, sinking onto the end of Hawkeye’s cot. Hawkeye’s belongings had long since been sent after him, and the bedding cleaned, so there was little here to remind BJ of his friend except a lingering memory—persistent and clear. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine the cot sinking next to him from Hawkeye’s weight, that easy closeness they’d always fallen into. Whether they wound yarn or traded letters from home, or used the proximity as an excuse for warmth on cold evenings—the details changed depending on the memory, but it was familiar nevertheless. 

BJ shuddered, a tremor passing through him. He shifted, laying down on the cot. Perhaps because until now he’d only admitted to missing Hawkeye in writing—now that he’d done so aloud, it somehow made it...real. The hollow ache he’d been living with for weeks, everything he’d been trying to suppress and ignore, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He hadn’t felt anything like this since…

Since he’d first come to Korea, BJ realized. Since the pain of that separation had threatened to overcome BJ, until Hawkeye had so effortlessly slipped into his life, occupying those empty spaces until he became something familiar and...loved. 

BJ’s pulse seemed to thud in his eardrums, as he marveled that it hadn’t occurred to him sooner. That what he was feeling, the reason it rang so familiar, was that he was _homesick_. He hadn’t recognized it because it wasn’t drawing him thousands of miles away to California, but instead to somewhere far nearer. 

BJ’s sudden clarity brought with it a wave of remorse. How could this have happened—how could he have _allowed_ it to happen? How could he be missing Hawkeye right now more than Peg? How could his own emotions be so foreign to him that he’d fallen in love with his best friend without even realizing it? And he didn’t even know how Hawkeye felt.

Or did he? BJ got up suddenly, crossing the tent to where he kept his letters stowed. He’d attributed so much of what Hawkeye had written down to alcohol that it hadn’t occurred to him how much might be completely sincere. Even the closing of the letter— _Love, Hawkeye_ —he’d ascribed more to habit than anything to read into. BJ had closed more letters that way than he could remember. Taken into consideration with other portions of his message, however…

_You once asked me if it would help if out of the whole war there were two weeks I wouldn’t wanna forget._

BJ hadn’t been able to place Hawkeye’s referenced for the longest time, but now he remembered. It was Hawkeye’s ill-fated and too-brief romance with Kyung Soon. Even though he’d privately agreed with Potter that the relationship was inadvisable, he hadn’t wanted to begrudge Hawkeye’s happiness. And when the courtship had reached its inevitable end, his heart had gone out to Hawkeye.

_Truth is, two weeks aren’t enough time to make any part of this war worth it. Months, though, that I’m not so sure about._

BJ’s throat felt tight as he reread the passage. Cryptic though it had seemed when he first received it, Hawkeye had to be writing about them. Though the span of their friendship could be measured in months, somehow it felt as if they’d known each other for years. 

The reference to Hawkeye’s time with Kyng Soon couldn’t be a coincidence. It occurred to BJ, then, the advice he’d given Hawkeye at the time. _“Let her go.”_ That recollection threw the remainder of the letter into a new light, and BJ read on with newfound clarity and trepidation.

_I only wish I had been able to share a proper goodbye with you. I miss you so much. If I don’t see you again, know that you’re the best friend a guy could ask for. I can’t tell you how much you mean to me._

Hawkeye intended this letter to be his goodbye, BJ realized. Not in such plainly stated words, but why else take that manner of tone? Why else talk of never seeing each other again and feelings he couldn’t speak of? If that was the case, his lack of communication since made more sense. And what if BJ’s initial assumption had been incorrect? What if it wasn’t embarrassment at the inebriated state of the letter that factored into Hawkeye’s lack of communication, but shame? Shame over feelings he didn’t realize BJ shared.

* * *

“Captain Pierce,” a voice said, the sound permeating through the fog of fatigue.

“Hmm?”

“Break’s over. We’ve got more wounded.”

Hawkeye blinked his eyes blearily open. The speaker was one of the nurses, Lieutenant Jansen. 

“How long was I asleep?”

“About two hours,” Jansen said. She sounded apologetic, and Hawkeye knew she was probably just passing word down from someone else. 

“Sooner or later the war needs to learn I’m being sarcastic when I say I’ll sleep when I’m dead.”

Hawkeye took the cup of coffee she offered. Truth be told, he was almost grateful that in a few minutes he would have the distraction of the O.R. In there he could focus on nothing else but the patients and the job he’d been sent here to do. As long as he didn’t let himself dwell on how young they were, or the war that had robbed them all of what little innocence they possessed, he could whittle away the hours until at last there were no more wounded and he could sleep again.

Between long O.R. shifts and too-brief sleep he would also catch a shower or a meal where he could. He knew his current rhythm was hardly sustainable, just as he didn’t need to be a doctor to tell that he’d lost weight. It was preferable to the alternative, however—when they would have a slow couple of days and then Hawkeye would at last have to contend with his own thoughts.

He wished he could say he hadn’t known what possessed him when he wrote that letter those weeks ago, but that would be a lie. He’d been drunk, yes, and perhaps that had led him to make the inebriated late-night trek to deposit the letter where he might have hesitated to do so sober, but that didn’t make the things he had written any less true. Of course, there were still Army censors to consider, if they chose to read his letter, and when Hawkeye had finally woken with a pounding headache he’d spent the better part of an hour trying to recall if any of his phrase choices might condemn him to a dishonorable discharge. To say nothing of irreparably damaging his friendship with BJ.

BJ...and there it was again, the pervading guilt. There was a stack of letters by his bed—all of them from BJ, all of them unopened. Initially, Hawkeye hadn’t wanted to face BJ’s reaction to his letter. He didn’t want BJ’s worry, his insistence that something would work out. He didn’t want to know if BJ had picked up on Hawkeye’s barely-veiled confession, or face the possibility that he _hadn’t_. 

He didn’t need confirmation that what he felt for his best friend was hopeless, and not in the least because of the distance separating them now. 

But then a few days later another letter had arrived. And another one after that. And Hawkeye had immersed himself in his work, to distract himself from the guilt of those unopened letters and whatever BJ was feeling on the other end of them.

It was better this way, Hawkeye told himself. It would happen eventually—they’d try to keep in touch but eventually drift apart. Even if the war ended tomorrow their lives were on opposite ends of the continental U.S. It was like he’d told Kyung Soon—they would write a few notes as a graceful gesture of futility and never see each other again. Hawkeye was just trying to expedite the process, because where BJ was concerned he didn’t think his heart could take a prolonged and uncertain goodbye. 

The water as he scrubbed was just shy of scalding—a brief respite from the cold that permeated everything. It helped ground Hawkeye, bringing his thoughts back to the present. There were more wounded to take care of. 

In spite of their conversation those weeks back, Dr. Phillips still wasn’t friendly towards him. Polite civility had replaced hostility, which Hawkeye supposed he ought to be grateful for. He didn’t think he would be snapped at again for making jokes—if he still had the inclination to crack jokes, that is. It made the O.R. atmosphere cold in more ways than one. 

Hawkeye stepped back after he finished his first patient, stripping his gloves off and shedding his outer gown to prepare for the next one. As the gurney was rolled in front of him, Hawkeye’s insides clenched. His breath caught in his throat, and only the nurse applying fresh gloves kept him from reaching forward.

“Doctor?” she asked.

Hawkeye blinked, shaking his head to clear it. For a moment, he’d thought the man on the table was BJ. The man had the same dusty shade of light brown hair, but that was where the resemblance ended. He didn’t know why he’d mistaken him for BJ. There was no way BJ would even be in this part of Korea. 

“I’m fine,” Hawkeye said, hoping that if he said it aloud it would quell his pounding pulse. “Get another unit of whole blood, please.”

The surgery itself was a simple procedure, for which Hawkeye was grateful. He was rattled, but his skills were needed. He had to focus.

Hawkeye’s head was pounding by the time he finished, though whether that was from exhaustion or hunger was hard to tell. Much as he wanted to retreat to his bunk, he needed to clear his disorientation, and a full meal might help that. Surgical gown and pants were traded for olive drab, and Hawkeye had just finished splashing some water on his face when he heard someone enter the room. Looking up, he was surprised to see a familiar face.

“Sidney!” 

“Hello, Hawkeye,” Sidney Freedman said, a warm smile on his features.

It was the first time in a month someone had actually called him by his name, but more than that it was the first Hawkeye had seen a friend in that time. He started to shake Sidney’s hand, changing his mind and opting for a hug halfway through. 

“Boy, am I glad to see you. When did you get here? Why are you here?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” Sidney said, in that unflurried manner of his. “I got here about an hour ago, but you were still in surgery.” 

“Have you eaten yet? I was just about to grab—” Hawkeye checked his watch. “—lunch.”

“Is it better than at the 4077th?”

“I’d say the quality is about the same. I can’t speak for the company, though.” Hawkeye kept his tone light, but it was difficult not to feel estranged by the other people in the camp. 

“I won’t risk the food, then. But if you’d like the company, I could be persuaded by a cup of coffee.”

Hawkeye didn’t say how grateful he was for the gesture, but Sidney probably knew. He was perceptive like that. Well, he wasn’t the only one. 

“So,” Hawkeye began casually, once he set his food tray on the table. “In the neighborhood, huh? This isn’t your usual neck of the woods.”

“I go where I’m needed.”

Hawkeye nodded. “You, uh, weren’t all that surprised to see me here. Which makes me wonder if I’m the reason you’re here.”

Sidney’s brow furrowed as he took a sip of his coffee. He was looking at Hawkeye—not with scrutiny, but more of a quiet assessment. From anyone else it might have bothered Hawkeye, but he respected Sidney’s training and abilities too much.

“I’ll be honest, Hawkeye. I was asked to check in and see how you’ve been.”

Hawkeye looked down at his tray, his throat feeling tight. He supposed he ought to feel indignation or even annoyance, that someone at the 4077th had sent Sidney to look after him. As if he was falling apart and couldn’t keep it together. Instead, he only felt a deep ache somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, that for all his efforts to cut himself off from the 4077th, someone there still cared. And underneath, the creeping fear that maybe they were right to worry.

The image of BJ laid out the operating table was a difficult thing to shake.

“Look, the mess tent is hardly the best place to catch up,” Sidney said. “Why don’t you finish eating and get cleaned up? Stop by the VIP tent later, we can chat there. Nothing official, just whatever you want to talk about.” 

“I think I will,” Hawkeye said. At the very least, he could always suggest a game of chess or cards. 

“Cheers.” Sidney toasted his coffee mug. 

The prospect of talking to Sidney later somewhere when the entire mess tent wouldn’t be privy to the conversation was an appealing one, and it helped the time pass more quickly. Hawkeye finished his meal then went to grab his robe and towel for a quick shower. The hot water helped clear his lingering fatigue, as well as the restlessness since his moment of anxiety in the O.R. When he returned to his bunk to get dressed, however, his eyes fell on the unopened stack of letters from BJ. The guilt he’d been quietly packing away returned in full force. 

The longer he went without reading those letters, the more daunting the idea of responding to them became. Hawkeye knew it wasn’t fair, knew that BJ must be worried sick, but by the same token he couldn’t bring himself to open them. Even if they were all he had left of BJ. _Especially_ if they were all he had left. He would rather remember their time together, even if it wasn’t quite in the context he would have wished.

He would rather hold onto the illusion that BJ could feel the same way about him, than disappoint himself with the reality that he didn’t. 

“Come in,” Sidney said when he arrived. “I’m afraid I don’t have any gin to offer you.”

“That’s okay, I’ve been—” Hawkeye cut himself off. He’d almost said ‘I’ve been hitting the bottle pretty hard lately.’ It was one of the quicker ways to get to sleep when sheer exhaustion wasn’t enough. “I should cut back,” he finished.

“Fair enough.”

“Who was it, Sidney?” The question had plagued him all afternoon.

“Colonel Potter.”

Hawkeye swallowed, moving to sit in a vacant chair. Much as he tried to ignore it, he still harbored some lingering resentment over how the whole transfer had gone down. He knew, in part, it was irrational, but that didn’t change how he felt.

“He feels guilty about leaving me here?”

“He’s worried about you. As is BJ. From what I hear, you haven’t exactly been the most communicative.”

It wasn’t an accusation, Hawkeye knew, merely Sidney trying to suss out the situation, but that did nothing for Hawkeye’s guilt. He almost wished he had a drink in hand, so he could hide himself behind it. “I saw him today,” Hawkeye murmured.

“Who?”

“BJ...he wasn’t there, but I saw him in the O.R. For just a moment, I looked at one of the patients and I saw _him_.”

“Why do you think it is you saw him?”

“I don’t know, Doc.” Hawkeye hesitated. He hadn’t intended to be this candid when he came to Sidney’s tent. Not without a couple of card games, at least. But now that he had started, he felt compelled to keep going. “Because I’m cracking? Because the stress of this place is finally getting to me? Because I miss him, and yet I can’t—”

“Can’t reply to his letters?” Sidney prompted when Hawkeye trailed off. 

“I can’t even bring myself to open them.”

“And why is that?” Sidney inquired, his brows furrowed.

Hawkeye stared at his folded hands. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sidney, he trusted him plenty. Sidney had helped him through a number of situations, in coming to terms with his own demons. But there was trust in Sidney’s abilities as a psychiatrist, and there was trust that he could guard a secret Hawkeye had barely shared with anyone. A secret that, if it got out, could jeopardize Hawkeye’s future. 

“If you don’t want to talk about it, I’ve got cards, we can play Gin Rummy,” Sidney said.

“No, it’s fine. Sidney...what I have to say, will you promise not to have me discharged over it?”

“Well, that depends. Is it something that’s harmful to you or someone else?”

“No.”

“Then odds are it’s something the Army and I don’t see eye-to-eye on. Whatever it is, your secret is safe.”

Hawkeye took a steadying breath. When he glanced up at Sidney, he saw only patient consideration in the man’s face.

“I’ve...been attracted to men before. The same way I am towards women. Most of the time, just in passing, but there have been a couple cases, men and women, where someone meant more.”

Hawkeye paused, waiting to gauge Sidney’s reaction. Waiting for revulsion, or alarm, or some other sign that he’d made a terrible lapse in judgment. When none came, he continued, “I’ve never cared about anyone as much as I do about BJ.”

“And because of what you feel for him, you can’t bring yourself to open his letters?”

Hawkeye frowned. He’d expected...well, he certainly hadn’t expected Sidney to take his confession in stride with barely any reaction to speak of.

“You’re not...disgusted? Shocked?”

Sidney’s smile was sympathetic. “No, Hawkeye, I’m not. It’s not something that has ever bothered me, in spite of what some of my contemporaries may believe. And truthfully, your confession doesn’t come as a surprise to me.”

“You knew?” Hawkeye wondered how obvious he was, if someone he only saw every couple months had picked up on it.

“I suspected. But I hadn’t planned on bringing it up unless it became relevant. And even then, it was your secret to tell.”

For Hawkeye, it was as if a weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying was lifted. He told Sidney about the letter he’d written with its near-confession. He told him about the past weeks at the 8055th, the taxing schedule he held himself to in order to avoid the guilt he felt.

“So the way you see it, it’s a self-preservation tactic,” Sidney said.

“Exactly.”

“And if Potter is able to work out a way to get you transferred back, what then? What will you tell BJ to explain your emotional distance?”

An uncomfortable silence followed. “It’s not gonna happen,” Hawkeye finally said. “The Army doesn’t like to admit when they make a mistake. Besides, it wouldn’t make a difference—BJ doesn’t feel the same.”

“What makes you so certain of that?”

“The wife and kid are a pretty big indication.”

“You said yourself you’re attracted to men and women. Why couldn’t it be the same case for him?”

“Because what he has is _good_.” Hawkeye stood, pacing the small tent. “He loves Peg, and the one time he strayed the remorse consumed him. Why would I want to put him through that? Why would he want to give up what he has for _me_ , a cynical asshole who’s soused half the time and falling apart at the seams?”

“I don’t have an easy answer for you,” Sidney said. “Who knows why we attach ourselves to certain people? Human connection is an unpredictable thing, and attraction...love...even more so. I can’t say for certain how BJ feels about you, but I do think keeping him in the dark—ignoring all his attempts to reach out—is hurting him as much as your reluctance to read his letters is hurting you.” 

“What makes you so certain of that?” Hawkeye asked, echoing Sidney’s query from before.

Sidney regarding him with concern. Even amid Hawkeye’s small outburst he remained composed. Calm. Finally, he spoke, “Don’t feel you have to answer this question, but I would like you to think about it. On what terms did you and Trapper part, when he was transferred home?”

Hawkeye’s throat worked, trying to form a suitable retort, but he had none. He sat back down. Trapper hadn’t left a note, and Hawkeye had missed him leaving by ten minutes. Hawkeye had thought, surely, when Trapper got home he would send a letter to the 4077th, but none had come. Was it a reluctance to open up that chapter of his life again, or an eagerness to put it all behind him? 

Hawkeye had spent a lot of time feeling bitter about the manner and circumstances of Trapper’s departure, but wasn’t he doing something similar to BJ?

“You’ve made your point,” Hawkeye said.

“I try. What you do with that is up to you, of course,” Sidney said, a wry smile tugging at his mouth. “I _can_ , however, say that your experience today in O.R. was most likely a combination of exhaustion and stress. I’m going to go to the company commander and recommend R&R. How does a trip to Tokyo next week sound?”

* * *

It seemed to BJ that since his realization, there was no way he could suppress what he felt. It had gone so long unconsciously ignored that now he had finally acknowledged his feelings, they had come to true fruition. He couldn’t deny them if he tried. Memories replayed in his head, interactions with Hawkeye cast into new light and he marveled, again, that he hadn’t recognized it sooner.

Which made the reality of his situation all the more uncomfortable. Trepidation twisted in his gut as he looked down at the letter from Peg. It sounded like he was going through a rough patch, she wrote. He didn’t sound like himself lately. She was worried about him, concerned because “in all your letters lately you talk about your friend, Hawkeye.” His friend, Hawkeye. She was being generous. BJ had devoted entire paragraphs expressing his frustrations and worries, eager for someone to confide in outside of the camp. And he’d unwittingly placed that burden on her, without knowing the extent of his own feelings. It seemed both Peg and Potter had recognized what BJ had not, even if they were ignorant as to the full nature of what BJ felt for Hawkeye.

Or maybe not, in Peg’s case. Then again, BJ could be projecting his own apprehension onto his reading of the letter. It was possible she was just concerned about him, because from her perspective he seemed to have taken the loss of his friend hard. But BJ gave her more credit than that. Even if she might not immediately jump to such conclusions, it had to be worrying to her that her husband had devoted so much of his recent letters in talking about his male best friend.

It wasn’t fair to Peg. If BJ was being honest with himself in admitting the full depth of what he felt for Hawkeye, then he had to be honest with Peg. He owed her that. Part of him had always felt bad about not admitting his single marital transgression to her. It had absolutely been a mistake, and he felt awful about it, but he had reluctantly acknowledged Hawkeye’s logic that he shouldn’t let it destroy their happiness together.

This was different. Even though nothing had happened, the very awareness and extent of his feelings was a level of unfaithfulness he couldn’t cope with as long as Peg was unaware of it. He had to tell her. And not some “Dear John” letter either. She deserved better.

“Sorry, sir, but Colonel Potter says no more calls to the 8055th,” Radar said when BJ entered the room.

“That’s fine. How about Mill Valley?”

Radar glanced up from his typewriter, surprised. Lately, the only reason he’d come to Potter’s office was to try contacting Hawkeye.

“The colonel’s on the phone with ‘I’ Corps right now. You can ask him once he’s finished.” 

BJ leaned against an empty stretch of wall to wait.

“—I don’t care what it takes, this has gone on long enough!” Potter’s raised voice filtered through the wall of his office. “Do you know what happens if you transplant an organ into a body it doesn’t match? Yes—I realize it’s a new procedure, but the argument still stands. The organ shuts down. And people are a heck of a lot less replaceable than organs. I need my chief surgeon back!” 

Potter fell quiet as the person on the other end of the line talked, and BJ let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He told himself not to place too much hope that Potter would prevail this time, but he couldn’t remember when he’d last heard the colonel that angry. The sound of the phone slamming in the cradle followed, and Potter paced from his office a moment later.

When he saw BJ, he gave an exasperated sigh. “Hunnicutt, I told you—”

“I’m not here to call the 8055th, sir. I was actually wondering if I might place a call to my wife. It’s...kind of important.” 

Potter stared at him, his face softening, and BJ prayed he wouldn’t ask for details.

“All right, go ahead. Do you need to use my office?”

“I’d appreciate that, sir.”

“That’s fine, then. Radar—”

“I’ll place the call, sir,” Radar said, already at the switchboard.

“It’ll take a few minutes to get in touch with the operators between here and San Francisco,” Potter said. “While I have you here, I wanted to let you know I had Dr. Freedman check in at the 8055th. He managed to get R&R in Tokyo authorized by their CO, and I’m prepared to sign a pass for you as well, if you’d like to see Pierce again.” 

If Potter had offered it yesterday, BJ would have been thrilled. The very prospect of seeing Hawkeye again made him feel light with elation and longing. Being able to confirm Hawkeye’s feelings for him and reassure Hawkeye of his own. Reproach brought him back to reality. Peg’s letter weighed heavy on his conscience, and he had no idea how this conversation would go, much as he wanted to accept the colonel’s offer. “Sir...I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Potter frowned. “We aren’t expecting many casualties next week, if that’s your concern. And from what Dr. Freedman has told me, I think seeing you could do Pierce a lot of good.” 

Grief tugged at BJ’s heart. “I’ll...I’ll let you know by the end of the day.”

“You do that.” There was an edge of disappointment in Potter’s tone, and he turned to leave the room.

“Hey, Radar,” BJ said once Potter was out of earshot. “This call home may be...a little sensitive. Can I trust you not to listen in?”

“Sure thing, sir. But I can’t promise the call will be private. There’s the operator in Tokyo, Honolulu and another in San Francisco...any one of em could listen in if they wanted.”

Anxiety flared in the pit of BJ’s stomach, but he nodded. He’d considered the possibility. Someone with a chip on their shoulder could, if they heard the wrong thing, make life very difficult for him or Hawkeye. But he couldn’t back out now, not with the call connecting through to Peg. He would just have to be careful.

“Okay,” Radar said a couple minutes later. “You’re good to pick up in Potter’s office.”

“BJ?” Peg’s voice crackled a little from the static, and something in BJ lurched. Because he missed her, of course he did. And he loved her, very deeply. But now more than ever it was apparent to him that his heart was being tugged in opposite directions. It would be easier if he didn’t love Hawkeye—if he could spare Peg the pain he would surely cause. But BJ didn’t know if he would will away his feelings, if that path were available. 

“Hey, Peg.”

Peg must have picked something up in his tone, because a moment later she said, “Honey? What’s wrong?”

This wasn’t something he could brush off with a quick denial or an “I’m fine.” BJ swallowed against the sudden lump in his throat. “I got your letter in the mail today,” he said.

There was quiet over the line, and BJ wondered if Peg was afraid to prompt him further. He reminded himself that there was a chance someone might be listening. The next moments could be crucial.

“The, uh, friend of mine you mentioned in your letter...I need to talk about them.”

“You mean Haw—”

“Yes,” BJ interrupted. “ _Them_.”

He allowed himself a pause for emphasis, hoping Peg would pick up on his tone. He wished he could talk about this openly with her, but at the moment the only avenue for honesty involved secrecy and cryptic language.

“I...think I understand,” Peg said. Was he imagining it, or was her voice strained?

“I—you were right, first of all. I wrote so much about...that person, in my letters to you. It was an unfair burden to place on you, and I’m sorry for causing you worry.”

BJ paused, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. “The thing is, I’ve been...a mess lately, and I didn’t realize it was because—”

“BJ,” Peg said, and even over the poor phone connection he could hear the waver in her voice. “Do you—you love them, don’t you?”

“Yes,” BJ said, the admission weighing heavy on his heart. “I’m so sorry, Peg, I—”

“I just—I need a moment,” Peg said. “Don’t hang up, just...please give me a moment.”

The line went silent save for muffled, indistinct noise. BJ felt utterly wretched. He blinked back tears, wishing he could reach across that distance and hold Peg, the way he used to when she was upset. He wondered how many sleepless night’s she’d had since he came to Korea. He wondered how many times she’d cried without him there to offer comfort.

The moment dragged out into minutes, and all BJ could hear over the line was obscured. It made him feel worse. Knowing what was going through her head right now would make this easier, but what about this entire situation was easy for her? Whatever grief she felt, whatever anger, she was fully within her rights to feel. 

“I’m here, I’m back,” Peg’s voice finally returned on the line. There was a composed steadiness in her tone, only the slightest quiver when she asked, “Could you...tell me how it happened?”

Hawkeye, resting a hand on BJ’s back that first day in Korea while he retched in a ditch. Hawkeye, rolling his eyes at BJ’s puns. Hawkeye, bandages covering his face, asking BJ to visit him a couple hundred times. Hawkeye, his entire body lighting up with laughter at one of BJ’s pranks.

“Nothing’s happened, Peg...not in that sense. Just...my own self-awareness. I wish there was an easy explanation. I wish I could blame it on the war. Somehow...we just clicked. I think it happened by degrees, and I didn’t even realize how much I cared until—until they weren’t there anymore.”

BJ paused, waiting a moment to see if there would be an interjection. He almost felt he deserved it, and if Peg chose to rail against him, he would let it happen.

“I’m so sorry, Peg...I wanted to be honest with you.”

“I know,” she said, and he could hear the strain in her voice, as if she fought off tears. “Does—does your friend feel the same?”

“They do, at least I’m pretty certain they do, but they don’t know how I feel yet,” BJ said. “I got a letter. I haven’t had the chance to...talk to them about it yet.”

Peg let out a sigh that was at once both wistful and resigned. “You know, part of me suspected. I said...I said in my last letter you hadn’t sounded like yourself lately, but I noticed the change some months back. I just...figured it was the war. The things you couldn’t talk to me about.”

“Peg…”

“No, let me finish, please. I knew you were changing, whether you were aware of it or not. And, a month ago, when your friend left...part of me did wonder, much as I tried to dismiss it.”

“Peg...I still love you. Please believe me.”

“I do believe you. And I love you too. But...much as you’ve changed, I have too. I’ve had to. And we might have to accept that we’re changing in different ways.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying...we don’t know how long this war will last. We don’t know the people we’ll be when it’s finished. Those people...they might not be the right fit for each other anymore. I hope we will be, but we just don’t know.”

Deep down, BJ knew what Peg said was true, even if it pained him to hear it. He’d spent so much of his time here in Korea always looking ahead to the end of the war, not only had he missed the enormous truth staring him in the face, but he’d pinned all his hopes on an idyllic future. What if that future didn’t pan out as he hoped?

“From everything you’ve written me of—your friend, it sounds like they need you. And...I think you need them too,” Peg said, her voice trembling slightly. “Please understand, I need my own time to figure out where I stand, and I need space, because I’m hurting right now...and it’s not something that can be easily fixed. And you...you need to emerge from this war, body and soul intact. And if your friend can help you in that regard, then I understand. Everything else, we can figure out when this war ends.”

BJ’s throat felt tight, and he realized he’d been crying, tears running freely down his face. 

“I love you, Peg.”

“I know.” Her voice wavered more now. “You have such an enormous capacity for love, BJ. If you didn’t, you wouldn’t be the man I fell in love with.”

“Will you still write?”

“Of course. Just...give me a little time, okay?”

“I will. Goodbye, Peg.”

“Goodbye, BJ.”

BJ shuddered as he hung up, the sob he’d suppressed making his body shake. Peg was right—she had changed. She’d always had a quiet strength about her, but now he was awed at her fortitude and honesty. He felt he paled in comparison. Much as it had hurt, though, much as he was still hurting, it had been necessary. 

_It sounds like they need you. And...I think you need them too._

Even with that blessing, such as it was, BJ could not help but still feel conflicted. Hawkeye was still at another unit, in spite of Potter’s continued efforts. And if he took up this 3-day pass to Tokyo, or if Hawkeye was later transferred back to the 4077th, there would always be the fear of discovery. He knew his feelings for Hawkeye were genuine, but he worried if that chance at happiness was worth the risks it would entail. And if he did pursue this path, was he prepared to possibly give up his marriage? If he _didn’t_ pursue this path, what if he returned home from the war only to find his marriage a casualty anyway because as Peg said, they had changed in different ways and were no longer the right fit for each other? Could he live with himself then, having given up any chance of being with Hawkeye?

The phone rang, and Radar picked it up in the next room. A moment later, there was rapid knocking on the door. BJ hastily wiped his face on his sleeve. 

“You okay, sir?” Radar asked as he poked his head in the door.

“I’m fine, Radar. What is it?”

“It’s Hawkeye. He’s calling for you.” 

Hawkeye. He hadn’t made any attempts to reach out in almost a month. BJ almost tripped over his feet scrambling to reach for the phone again. 

“Hawk?”

“Beej.”

Just like that, the month and change since they’d seen each other felt insignificant. BJ sank into Potter’s chair. He felt a pang of yearning, and he held the phone receiver closer, as though it could lessen the distance between them.

“How are you?”

Hawkeye gave a wry laugh. “I’ll be honest, the last couple days have been a sight better than the ones before them. Look, I—I can’t talk long. I wanted to tell you I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your letters. I...thought it might make things easier, but judging from the way I handled it that was a poor call on my part. And it wasn’t fair to you.”

Though BJ appreciated that acknowledgement, he knew Hawkeye hadn’t been ignoring him out of spite. “It’s okay, I understand,” he said, hoping it might assuage some of the guilt Hawkeye had been feeling. “I’ve missed you, Hawk.”

“I’ve missed you, too,” Hawkeye said. BJ’s heartbeat seemed to stutter in his chest.

“I, ah, ran into Sidney Freedman,” Hawkeye continued. “He’s got me set up for R&R in Tokyo in a few days. I’ll send you a postcard while I’m there.”

It occurred to BJ that Sidney hadn’t told Hawkeye about the trip to Tokyo being arranged for both of them, or that maybe Potter had decided only after Hawkeye’s R&R was confirmed. Either way, Hawkeye didn’t know. BJ opened his mouth, considered telling him, before he remembered he hadn’t decided if he should go or not. “That sounds good,” he said.

“There’s, um...a lot of things I talked to Sidney about. A lot of things I’ve been thinking about. And I’d like to talk to you sometime about them, just not—”

“Not over the phone?” BJ asked. His pulse pounded in his ears, and BJ couldn’t help but feel he stood on a precipice. He could hear the things Hawkeye wasn’t saying, and the sound of Hawkeye’s voice after all this time served to confirm to BJ the intensity of his own feelings. 

“Exactly,” Hawkeye said.

“Soon, then.”

“Soon,” Hawkeye agreed. 

Hawkeye had to hang up then, the 8055th’s CO needing the line open. BJ sat a moment longer, staring at the wood grain of the desk while piecing over the thoughts in his mind. He rubbed at the stubble on his jaw, grown wilder since he'd ignored it. Finally, he stood and left the room, giving Radar a grateful “Thank you” before he went outside. He found Colonel Potter brushing down Sophie in her paddock.

“Colonel, I will take that pass to Tokyo, if it’s okay with you.”

“Glad to hear it, son.”

* * *

Compared to past R&R’s, Hawkeye had to admit this one was off to a sedate start. It was late afternoon, but the only alcohol that had passed his lips so far was the glass of sake he’d been nursing for the past twenty minutes. Truthfully, he felt fidgety, and much as he loved to indulge in drink, that sort of excess now might result in him tracking down MacArthur’s headquarters in Tokyo to demand a hasty end to the war.

Not that the prospect of tracking down MacArthur’s headquarters wasn’t a tempting one. 

Tokyo was chilly, with the season creeping its way towards winter. Not the sort of weather to typically partake of sake outdoors, but Hawkeye was trying to distract himself by watching the activity and bustle of the city. Everywhere he looked, American GI’s on R&R entertained or flirted with Japanese women. Hawkeye’s own dress uniform felt stiff. A year ago, he’d have been on his feet and flirting as well, using his best theatrics to win their attention. But he’d changed, and it wasn’t what he wanted anymore.

He still hadn’t read BJ’s letters in full. After Sidney’s departure, Hawkeye had picked up the most recent letter, torn the envelope, and tentatively begun to read. He’d gotten as far as BJ’s shaky _Dear Hawk_ before he’d had to fold it up again. His own emotions were too raw, and BJ’s salutation too intimate, for him to cope with in that state. One thing he could do, however, was try to reach out to BJ by more direct means, at least to offer some apology or explanation for his distance. Sidney’s words had gotten to him. 

The brief phone conversation had been painful in an entirely different way, BJ’s voice stirring up longing and hope where Hawkeye had almost fully convinced himself he had no place to do so. And so, here he was, sitting at a table alone drinking sake outdoors and watching other people flirt and enjoy one another’s company.

“Hey there, stranger,” a familiar voice said.

Hawkeye nearly unseated himself, he turned in his chair so quickly, and then he could only stare. It was BJ. He looked...he looked _good_ , wearing his dress uniform, the same as Hawkeye remembered him, save for a certain choice of facial hair. What was he doing here? What was that mustache decorating his upper lip? What was that expression on his face, warm but with the slightest hint of shyness?

“ _Beej_ ,” Hawkeye breathed, finally finding his feet and getting up to envelop BJ in a hug. BJ returned the embrace without hesitation. 

Hawkeye’s heart beat out a staccato rhythm in his chest as those arms tightened around him, and he sighed. There was only so long the hug could be drawn out, however, and eventually he reluctantly drew back. A glance at BJ’s face indicated the feeling was mutual. 

“Sit down.” Hawkeye gestured at the empty table. “Have you eaten anything?”

“Not since the mess tent this morning,” BJ said, as he removed his hat and took a seat. His hair had gotten longer, curling at the ends. Somehow, it managed to offset the ridiculous appearance of that mustache. Hawkeye couldn’t help but notice BJ was thinner, not quite filling out the Class A uniform as he used to. It was a guilty reminder for Hawkeye how the separation had affected both of them.

“Oh no,” Hawkeye said, pressing a hand to his chest in dramatic shock. “We need to remedy that. Immediately.” 

He hailed their server, and promptly ordered enough food to feed at least four people. “And another bottle of sake, please!” 

BJ watched all this with amusement until Hawkeye finally settled in his chair again.

“Okay, first things first,” Hawkeye said. “What is that creature that has taken up residence on your upper lip?”

BJ laughed, flashing white teeth below the mustache. “You don’t like it?”

And Hawkeye’s train of thought almost derailed, because he had to admit there was something oddly charming about it, especially with BJ grinning at him like that. Not that he wanted to admit that aloud, of course. “Like it? I’m appalled to be in your presence. We’re going to have to get our meal to go.”

“Ah, you’re just afraid you won’t measure up next to this level of panache.” 

“Panache? I have panache in _spades_ ,” Hawkeye replied indignantly, and he would have continued if not for their bottle of sake arriving at the table. “Some wine for your cheese?” Hawkeye asked, pushing a glass towards BJ. 

In truth, he was relieved they could so easily fall into trading banter after such a long separation. The fundamentals of their friendship hadn’t changed, in spite of his attempts to sabotage it with coded confessions or non-communication. 

“Really though, Beej, what are you doing in Tokyo?”

BJ glanced toward the table, not meeting Hawkeye’s eyes as he said, “Sidney talked to Potter. He got me R&R to coincide with your days, and booked me at the same hotel.” 

Now it was Hawkeye’s turn to look down. Had this been Sidney’s plan? Regardless of knowing BJ’s feelings, placing him in a situation where he would inevitably have to talk to BJ about this? “I wish they wouldn’t treat me like I’m incapable of coping,” he said quietly. “However true that might seem.”

“Hawk,” BJ said softly. He leaned down, until Hawkeye was drawn back up to meet his gaze. “Who said you’re the only one who needed this?” 

There was something in BJ’s face, in his tone, that seemed to be imparting more meaning in his words. Something that filled Hawkeye with that impossible longing—that hope he’d so long been trying to ignore. Then their food arrived, and whatever expression had been on BJ’s face flickered and disappeared. 

The food was the best thing either of them had eaten in ages, a far cry from the mess tent slop nobody could grow truly used to. They ate and chatted, initially catching each other up on the time they’d missed, before they spiralled off into aimless conversation topics, the same way they used to back at the swamp. The sky was darkening as they wound down, the plates between them long since emptied and taken away.

“What now, BJ?” Hawkeye asked as he paid their bill, with a sizeable tip. He stood to stretch his legs. “I hear there’s a kabuki theater half a mile from here, if you’d like to take some entertainment for the evening.”

BJ shrugged. “There are other evenings for that. And besides, I’m having a good time now. If it’s all the same, why not go back to the hotel?”

Hawkeye’s heart thudded inside his ribs. BJ couldn’t be implying what it sounded like, could he?

“Sounds good to me,” Hawkeye said, far more casually than he felt. “Lay on, Macduff.”

They walked back to the hotel together. Hawkeye’s thoughts were scattered. Sidney’s words kept replaying in his head. _You said yourself you’re attracted to men and women. Why couldn’t it be the same case for him?_ He went through his memories of the afternoon, over and over again, looking for some kind of definite confirmation—but found none. All he had was a feeling, one he couldn’t be certain wasn’t influenced by his hopes of what he _wished_ was true. He couldn’t do anything based on a feeling, not with so much at stake.

They got into the elevator at the hotel, and Hawkeye punched the button for his floor. BJ made no move to do the same. He regarded Hawkeye with an unreadable expression. Hawkeye’s pulse beat excitedly. 

“Oh, before I forget,” BJ said, reaching to his belt and pulling a flask out. “Your gin, as requested. Aged six weeks.”

Hawkeye took a sip, almost coughing as he’d forgotten how strong the taste of homemade hooch was. “That stuff’s almost good. Bottle and sell it at Rosie’s, you could make a killing!”

“Ah, but wouldn’t that make me a war profiteer?” BJ smiled, leaning forward. “Besides, I’d rather share it with you.”

They were too close in the elevator, which came to a shuddering halt a moment later. Hawkeye, half-grateful and half-reluctant, took a step back and off the elevator. Was that confirmation enough? What if BJ’s behavior was influenced by alcohol? But no—they’d split the bottle of sake and a tableful of food besides, and over a great enough period of time that there was barely any effect. Still, Hawkeye hesitated. This was far too important. _BJ_ was far too important, to jump to any hasty conclusions and read flirtation into what could be simple friendliness. 

They reached the door to Hawkeye’s room, which he unlocked with hands that were far too experienced in surgery to shake when handling a key. Inside though, his thoughts were a tumult. He ought to tell BJ the things he hadn’t said at dinner. The talk with Sidney, the letter—

Once they were inside the room, Hawkeye locked the door again. A moment later, he felt a touch to his wrist. When he turned to look at BJ, Hawkeye knew there were few ways the expression on his friend's face could be misinterpreted. BJ regarded him with an intensity that bordered on profound, and Hawkeye found himself arrested by that gaze as BJ closed the distance between them.

At the first touch of BJ’s lips against his, Hawkeye could not help the relieved sigh that escaped him. BJ’s hand came up, bracketing Hawkeye’s face in the loosest of holds as he deepened the kiss. Even in the rare moments when Hawkeye had allowed his fantasies to wander, his imagination never could have envisioned this. The mustache was certainly not something he predicted. Even so, it was _perfect_ , as BJ took another step forward, crowding Hawkeye against the door. It would be so easy to yield into his touch…

“Wait,” Hawkeye broke away, a seed of panic disguised as reason taking hold of his insides. “Wait—what is this? What are we doing? What about—what about _Peg_?”

He was babbling, he knew, and there was a part of him that hated himself for turning this down, but he knew it would be nothing to the self-loathing he’d feel if BJ regretted this later. 

“Hawkeye, it’s okay,” BJ said, though he took a half-step back. “I talked to Peg.”

“Oh, you talked to her,” Hawkeye said, feeling an edge of hysteria creeping into his tone. “So, uh, how’s this work, then—we spend the night together, go back to our respective MASH units, and after this war’s over you can go back to Peg, guilt-free?”

Now he could see the hurt on BJ’s face. “Is that what you think it would be for me? Hawk...the moment I realized what I felt, I was riddled with guilt, and that’s why I had to talk to Peg. I’m a different person than the one who left California, and Peg realizes that. She understood it before I did. I might not have a marriage to go back to, regardless of what happens here, simply because the two of us have had to change so much.”

BJ swallowed, and Hawkeye was torn, wanting so badly to close that distance between them again. Wanting to feel those lips on his again. But he had to know. He’d done casual with men before, most of the time it was his only option, but he knew he couldn’t do that here. 

“And I can’t lie to myself,” BJ said. “I wouldn’t be here, Hawk, if what I felt for you wasn’t real. Wasn’t...worth the chance that I’d choose it over my marriage. I wouldn’t do this if it wasn’t love.”

Hawkeye’s breath caught in his chest as BJ stepped closer again. “I want this, Hawkeye. I want you.”

Hawkeye’s mind was stalling, coming back and back again to that word. Love. BJ loved him. He didn’t want casual, and this wasn’t some passing attraction for either of them. It was love. Hawkeye reached forward to trace the lapel of BJ’s uniform jacket, finally finding his voice. “Who said you’re allowed to sweep me off my feet with romantic gestures?”

BJ smiled, grasping the end of Hawkeye’s tie and gently tugging him closer. “Get used to it.” 

A small part of Hawkeye was still nervous. Not because he didn’t want this, but because he _did_. It was becoming harder to see the reasons this could be ill-advised, when what he’d wanted for so long was being freely offered to him. Was it selfishness if BJ wanted this as well?

Their lips met again, and this time there was no hesitation from either of them. BJ kissed with a kind of thorough attentiveness that left Hawkeye breathless, and more than a little desperate to see what happened when BJ let go of that carefully-held control. He clutched at BJ’s jacket, realizing too late that in his distraction his own tie and half the buttons down his front were undone. 

“Why, Hunnicutt, if you wanted me naked, all you had to do was say so,” Hawkeye said, before nipping at BJ’s lower lip.

BJ flashed him a look that was almost depraved. “My dear Hawkeye, I’d like to see you naked.”

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.” 

“You’re on.”

They came to an unspoken agreement to each do their own clothes. Hawkeye’s shirt and tie hung open, and he quickly shrugged his jacket off. The cuffs on Hawkeye’s sleeves gave him trouble, and by the time he looked up from them, he saw that BJ had removed his shoes and was already bare from the waist up. Hawkeye couldn’t help but stare. He’d seen BJ shirtless before, of course, the result of living in close quarters and taking showers beside one another, but this was the first time he had felt welcome to _look_. And there was a lot to appreciate. BJ had a runner’s physique, and hair on his torso that Hawkeye on more than one occasion had wondered how it would feel under his fingertips. 

And then BJ was turning away from him, bending to remove his trousers, and Hawkeye felt his face go hot. He hurried to remove the rest of his own clothing, debating momentarily if he should remove his shorts as well, but a glance up confirmed BJ had done so. When Hawkeye straightened, he caught BJ looking him over, too. BJ’s face flushed and he glanced at a bare spot on the wall, and it occurred to Hawkeye that this sudden apprehension on both their parts wasn’t shame, but shyness. In BJ’s case especially, since Hawkeye could only guess he’d never done this with a man before.

“Beej,” Hawkeye said, holding out his hand and guiding them both onto the bed. 

For several moments they only kissed, savoring the slow drag of lips and tongues against each other. The touch of bare skin could not be ignored for long, however, and the kisses quickly grew deeper, more insistent. Hawkeye felt BJ growing hard against his thigh, knew BJ could feel the same on his part, and the awareness was heady. Part of Hawkeye had worried BJ might back off when confronted with the actual mechanics of sex involving two men—but he showed no signs of slowing down, as he gasped into the corner of Hawkeye’s mouth. 

“ _Hawk_.”

“Yeah?”

“I want—”

“Anything.”

BJ drew back, enough that they could see each other’s faces. BJ’s mouth was reddened from kissing and his eyelids were heavy—a good look on him. BJ looked down, his eyes following the curve of Hawkeye’s neck down to his collarbone, his torso, and lower. When he met Hawkeye’s eyes again, his face was tinged pink. “I want...to taste you.” 

Hawkeye could only gape in astonishment for a moment, not entirely certain that this entire day hadn’t been an elaborate dream, before he realized BJ was actually waiting for a response. “You’ll hear no objection from me,” he finally managed to croak. 

BJ began a thorough exploration of Hawkeye’s body, his hands mapping out muscles and tendons, touch which he then followed with his mouth. Hawkeye gasped as one of BJ’s thumbs found a nipple, and arched off the bed as the other traced teasingly at the divot of his hip. But BJ seemed to be in no hurry, licking at the spots where sweat had beaded on Hawkeye’s stomach. It was enticingly close to where Hawkeye wished that mouth would be. No matter how much he wanted it though, he had no intention of rushing BJ in this. 

BJ shifted, sucking at the patch of skin above Hawkeye’s hip where his thumb had been pressing a moment before, and Hawkeye had to resist the impulse to cry out, or curse. He bit down on his own fist to muffle the sound, which escaped in the form of a pained whimper. They were afforded more privacy here than anywhere else, but it wouldn’t do to draw unwanted attention.

BJ had gone still, and Hawkeye was about to look down when he felt a hand envelop his cock in a loose hold. A thumb circled the head, collecting the fluid that had gathered there, and Hawkeye shuddered at the feeling.

“I thought about this,” BJ said, his tone sounding almost awed. “I wondered what it might be like.”

Hawkeye was about to say it was okay if BJ didn’t want to anymore, that what he had done so far had been more that Hawkeye ever could have hoped, but any half-formed assurances were forgotten as the sensation of BJ’s mouth and tongue replaced his hand. 

That BJ had probably never done this before didn’t matter. All that mattered was the 55 hours left in his R&R, and making sure at some point in that time BJ felt as good as Hawkeye felt now. What BJ lacked in experience, he more than made up for in focus. With every shuddering breath Hawkeye took, BJ seemed to take in his reactions like he was taking notes and applying his findings, and the result had Hawkeye writhing on the bed. It took every concentrated effort not to thrust his hips up into that perfect, indecent mouth. He’d never be able to think of BJ’s name again without unfortunate connotations. 

“ _Beej_ , wait,” Hawkeye gasped, reaching for BJ’s shoulders. ”I’m close, I’m—”

A moment later BJ was moving up the bed to kiss him, a hand taking the place where BJ's mouth had been and working to bring him off. Hawkeye could taste himself on BJ's tongue, and that combined with the slick friction of BJ's hand had him going tense, coming with a muffled groan within seconds. 

They remained that way for several moments, Hawkeye twitching from echoes of pleasure. He could feel BJ hard against his thigh, and intended to do something about that very shortly, but BJ seemed to be in no particular rush. He kissed Hawkeye languidly, as though they had all the time in the world. They didn't have all the time in the world, though. They only had fifty-odd hours, including the time they would need to sleep.

Hawkeye reached down, taking hold of BJ in a firm grip. BJ groaned, thrusting forward. He was already close, and this was something Hawkeye had wanted for a long time. Living together in the Swamp, it had been impossible to avoid those moments where one of them had needed to take matters in hand, as it were. Much as he’d tried not to pay attention those nights when BJ thought he was asleep, Hawkeye could not help committing those sounds to memory. He wanted to bring them out now. 

"Yeah, c'mon Beej," Hawkeye encouraged, twisting his wrist at just the right angle, tightening his grip and letting BJ's thrusts do the rest. 

BJ buried his face in Hawkeye’s neck, his whine muffled as he shuddered against Hawkeye’s body. His thrusts became erratic, and Hawkeye gave one final pull with his hand, and then BJ gave a stifled cry as his cock pulsed. He sagged, and Hawkeye shifted so BJ would be laying beside more than on top of him. BJ nuzzled at the junction of Hawkeye's neck and shoulder, the mustache hairs tickling slightly. 

"God, I missed you," BJ said, his voice gravelly.

“I missed you too,” Hawkeye murmured, then pressed his lips to BJ’s forehead.

It made something lurch deep within Hawkeye. The awareness that their time together was limited, and soon they would be separated again. They would have to make the most of this time.

* * *

BJ woke slowly. He lay in an ungainly sprawl on the bed, half-tangled with Hawkeye’s limbs. Remembering their night together, BJ smiled. Whatever the future brought, there was no way he could be convinced this had been a mistake. There was something almost effortless about being with Hawkeye, as though this physical intimacy was just a natural extension of their friendship. He wondered how long they’d been moving towards that, before either of them were aware of the attraction.

“Hawkeye,” BJ said. He received only a sleepy murmur in response. 

BJ smirked, leaning down to nuzzle at Hawkeye’s chest. There was only so long that could go unnoticed, as Hawkeye let out an undignified sound and tried to roll away. 

“You animal! Are you _trying_ to give me ‘stache rash?”

“Maybe.”

That earned him a scowl, though BJ could tell there wasn’t much heat behind it. “What do you want?” Hawkeye groused. 

“Just to tell you I’m going to see if I can scrounge up some coffee,” BJ said. “I didn’t want you to wake up after I’d gone.”

He didn’t want Hawkeye to think he’d had second thoughts. From the way Hawkeye’s expression softened, he understood BJ’s intent. “Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, some of us want to sleep a little more.” 

BJ gathered his scattered clothes and dressed. The hotel had shared bathrooms for each floor, and he ducked into an empty one to clean off the remnants of last night as well as smooth his hair into some semblance of order. Before going downstairs, BJ also took a visit to his own room, to switch out a fresh shirt from his bag and also untidy the bed in case anybody looked in. 

The receptionist was a man BJ had introduced himself to yesterday, when he’d enquired after popular restaurants for GI’s to frequent. The man smiled in recognition when he saw BJ.

“Telegram for you, Hunnicutt-san.” 

BJ had to read the telegram twice, the significance not quite sinking in the first time. When he realized what it meant, he gave a whoop, drawing the attention of several people in the lobby. BJ excused himself with a muttered “sorry, sorry,” then took to the hotel stairs. He couldn’t wait for the elevator. 

“Where’s the coffee?” Hawkeye asked when he opened the door. He was half-dressed, buttoning a clean shirt. 

BJ swept into the room and caught Hawkeye in a hug so tight they both almost toppled to the floor. 

“Jeez, warn a guy, would you?” Hawkeye said breathlessly. “What’s going on?” 

BJ toed the door shut. “You’re coming back, Hawkeye. The 4077th. Potter confirmed the transfer orders this morning.”

Hawkeye was incredulous, and he reached for the telegram to confirm it with his own eyes. “I can’t believe it. I...Sidney must have had something to do with it.”

“Maybe it’s his professional opinion that you’ll do better back with us,” BJ said. “Or Potter was finally able to cash in on his favors owed. Doesn’t matter. The point is, you’re finally coming back!” 

Hawkeye didn’t seem ready yet to join in BJ’s exultation. He sat on the edge of the bed, astonishment written on his face.

“Hawk? Is everything okay?”

When Hawkeye met his eyes, there was a vulnerability there BJ had never seen before. “I...didn’t think it would ever happen, honestly. I thought I would spend the rest of the war there.”

BJ sat next to him. The weight on the bed displaced, and BJ was reminded of so many times they’d sat together on one of their cots, one of them comforting the other.

“I told myself I’d be okay with that,” Hawkeye said. “That having this...and last night...would be enough for me, if we were still separated for the rest of the war.”

“And now you aren’t sure where we stand?” BJ ventured.

Hawkeye nodded, his eyes not meeting BJ’s directly. BJ reached out, touching the side of Hawkeye’s face, guiding it gently back until they were looking at each other once more.

“I meant what I said yesterday. All of it,” BJ said. “This wasn’t some proclamation just because I had three days’ leave. My feelings for you haven’t changed.”

“And when we get back to the 4077th? What then?”

“Then we’ll be careful. We were always affectionate with one another, it won’t raise any concerns. And as long as we maintain plausible deniability, there won’t be anything to pin on us.”

Hawkeye arched an eyebrow at him. “What about Charles? However careful we are, we all live in the same tent. What if he catches wise?”

Charles was something to consider, BJ thought. After the incident in the mess tent, Charles had come to BJ later that day, and the two had offered up sheepish, if somewhat stilted, apologies for their behavior. Underneath all of Charles’ bluster, BJ had seen flashes of a better person, though his selfishness usually won out. On the other hand, that character trait could also be used to an advantage.

“ _If_ Charles were to find out, I don’t think it will be a problem.”

“That’s a lot of confidence to place in someone who tried to turn a profit on the Army changing their military scrip.”

“All we’d have to do is remind him that if he ratted on us, he’d be head surgeon of the 4077th, and nothing but a peace treaty would get him out of Korea. Failing that, we can always build up some good bribe material.” 

He could see Hawkeye working over all the particulars in his head, considering the obstacles. His brows relaxed from their furrowed position. “You’re serious about this,” he said.

“I’m serious about you,” BJ said. “But only if is this what _you_ want.”

There was an awed quality in the look Hawkeye gave him, appreciation mixed with incredulity, and he leaned forward to press his lips to BJ’s. BJ returned the kiss without hesitation, savoring the thrill it sent through him. 

“I guess I should arrange to have my stuff sent over from the 8055th, then,” Hawkeye said. 

“They’ve got two days to get it in order,” BJ pointed out. “And then—well, I was about to say ‘then we can go home’...”

He trailed off, well aware that a tent at a MASH unit could hardly be called home, but Hawkeye was smiling at him. Wherever home was, BJ had a feeling they’d already found it.


End file.
